


Açai Caipirinha

by 72reasons



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU where they kissed in ASiP and have been together ever since, Alcohol, Drinking, Established Relationship, I love them so much guys, Implied homophobia, Los Angeles, M/M, Sherlock and John are secure in their love, flirting with the bartender, happy hour, obnoxious poorly dressed bar patrons, their name is Johnlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-16
Updated: 2017-09-16
Packaged: 2018-12-30 07:46:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12104025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/72reasons/pseuds/72reasons
Summary: Sherlock and John have a couple of drinks in a Los Angeles bar.





	Açai Caipirinha

Sherlock loves a good cocktail. Fruity, savory, strong, fizzy, citrusy. He doesn't care. As long as it's made with pride and fresh ingredients, he's all about it.

He and John were in Los Angeles for a case that turned out surprisingly interesting. Murder, money laundering, and prostitution involving some of the town’s most famous residents. The paparazzi was relentless with every aspect of the case, including a new obsession with a certain British duo. It seemed they couldn't get enough of the short, blonde, fierce one smirking at the scathing, curly-haired, showy one. They'd been photographed snogging in the back of the limo on their first day on the scene. That gained them a nickname in the papers and on blogs. Johnlock. Sherlock actually liked it. John didn’t give a shit.

Once the case was over, they had one last night in the City of Angels. They found a lively, slickly-decorated, Brazilian restaurant and went for a late lunch. They found themselves in the midst of what Americans called ‘happy hour’. Honestly, why were Americans, particularly Californians, always so happy? Must be something about the sun shining all year long.

They sat at the bar and John ordered a beer, some kind of black beer. Or brown bear stout. Sherlock didn’t pay attention. Sherlock decided to try their caipirinha. He didn’t have high hopes for a loud little joint in the Valley, but why not? They probably couldn’t cock it up too badly.

But when the handsome young bartender with dark skin and beautiful smile asked Sherlock if he wanted to try their special, he said yes. When their drinks arrived, Sherlock was delighted to find a fresh pink orchid adorning the rim.

“It’s beautiful,” he said, smiling at the bartender, looking up from under his lashes.

John just rolled his eyes and surreptitiously placed his hand on Sherlock’s knee. John didn’t mind the flirting Sherlock had perfected over their six years together. In fact, he sort of got off on it. Sherlock thought maybe John could play bartender in their drab, heavily air-conditioned motel room later.

Sherlock eyed the drink. He was pleased to find chunks of fresh blackberry, clearly just muddled, peppered throughout the drink. He took the extra-wide straw between two long fingers and jabbed at the blackberries, limes, and ice. It was thick with all three ingredients, plus rum and açai liquor.

John’s beer did indeed look black. “Cheers,” he said, touching the rims of their glasses together softly.

“Cheers,” replied Sherlock.

Never looking away from John’s beautiful dark blue eyes, Sherlock licked his upper lip then raised the straw to his tongue. He rested the tip of his tongue at the tip of the straw for one, two, three seconds. Just rested it there, looking at John with a small, knowing smile. 

John’s beer mug halted just short of his mouth. He watched Sherlock’s little display, letting his own slow, small smile grow on his lips.

John watched as Sherlock withdrew his tongue in order to wrap his full lips around the thick straw. He hollowed his cheeks, and sucked very, very slowly.

“You're a bad man.”

Sherlock swallowed his sweet sip and said, “You love it when I'm bad.”

“Which is always. And you're right, I do.” John finally took a long gulp of his beer.

They sipped their drinks, ordered a kabob and chimichurri fries to share. They were relaxed and a bit giddy from having just solved the case, a bit of jet-lag, and the outstanding shag they’d had in the back room of a famous Beverly Hills shirtmaker. They talked about lots of little things. They talked about the case a bit and their new nickname. They discussed the tacky, yet somehow sexy, decor of the restaurant. They were in no hurry and just wanted to enjoy each other’s company on their last evening in California.

“Another, love?” John asked.

Sherlock noisily slurped the last of the sweet rum and fruit into the wide straw.

“That’s a yes,” John muttered softly and indicated to the bartender that they would like another round. The bartender smiled broadly, turned quickly, and began to make Sherlock’s drink.

A couple walked behind them. The man loudly said “Hey!” and waved both hands at all of the servers and bartenders. Clearly they were regulars, but Sherlock detected the tight smiles of the staff and determined that this couple was trouble. The short, dark-haired man had eyes too small and a pink nose from too much drink. He wore over-sized cargo shorts and a hideous short-sleeved button-up with a palm tree and fish pattern repeated all over it. Sherlock shuddered.

John smirked at Sherlock’s reaction to the man’s terrible fashion sense and squeezed his thigh.

The couple sat down next to John and Sherlock, who promptly turned towards each other even more.

“Hey! It’s been a while!” the man shouted towards the bartender making their drinks. The barman just nodded. The woman with Fish-Shirt hadn’t looked up from her phone the whole time but was drunkenly swaying already. Apparently, this was the couple’s second or maybe even third ‘happy hour’.

The bartender set Sherlock's and John's drinks in front of them and they thanked him quietly.

“What is _that_?” Fashion-Don’t said loudly over Sherlock’s shoulder.

Sherlock slowly turned his head towards the human foghorn. The bartender said, “It’s an açai caipirinha, would you like one?”

Sherlock said to the bartender, but loud enough for Clown-Nose to hear, “It’s so delicious.”

“Uh, no thanks,” Beady-Eyes said, full of disdain, “I’ll have a whiskey. None of that fruity shit for me.”

Sherlock didn’t miss the insult in the statement. A “real man” wouldn’t drink something purple with an orchid in it. A “real man” drank whiskey, probably bourbon (On ice! As if!). Well, Sherlock hadn’t been self-conscious about his sexuality or his love for fruity drinks in a very long time. He did not accept insults from anyone, but especially not a limp-cocked bigot with a girlfriend that wouldn’t even look at him.

Sherlock looked at John, who had heard the intended insult. John’s smile was tight in that dangerous way of his, but he remained calm. Sherlock said, “Tough guy,” and John nodded.

They finished their drinks, completely ignoring everyone else in the bar. Except the handsome bartender. He received a few smiles from both, and even a wink from John.

Just as they got up to leave, Tough-Guy sneered at Sherlock, “Not gonna get another pretty drink?”

Sherlock looked at John, _Should I?_  John raised his eyebrows, _Whatever you want, love_.

Sherlock took John’s hand in his own and pulled him a little bit closer, making it very clear that they were together. He leaned into the man's personal space and said, “No, I’m not having another drink. You probably shouldn’t either. But you will. You will because it’s a convenient excuse for why you can't get it up for your girlfriend. She has no idea you aren’t attracted to her.”

Tough-Guy sputtered and the woman finally looked up from her phone at Sherlock. Her eyebrows knitted together, and her mouth pursed into an unpleasant pucker.

Sherlock said to her, “It’s not you. He likes cock, and you don’t have one. Good night.”

The woman’s eyes went wide and she gasped in shock. Tough-Guy’s whole face turned red and he said loudly, “I...I...do...not...I do not!” To his girlfriend, he said, ”Baby, I don’t. That’s not why...”

Sherlock and John turned and started walking for the exit. “Yes it is,” Sherlock sing-songed over his shoulder.

John wiggled his hips exaggeratedly as they walked away. “Do you think he’s looking?”

“Of course, John. You have a spectacular arse.”

**Author's Note:**

> You know when someone is insulting and offensive and you (72reasons) don't say anything? Well, Sherlock would say something, wouldn't he? 
> 
> I am [onesmallfamily](http://onesmallfamily.tumblr.com) on Tumblr, please come by and say hello.


End file.
